


Rorschach Sheets

by SummoningMutations



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Song fic, vent fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-01-07 00:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummoningMutations/pseuds/SummoningMutations
Summary: A story about how Larry Johnson, starving artist, meets Sal, schizophrenic, and they have a one night stand.Larry develops a crush. Sal learns a couple of things.Neither one of them necessarily likes the world.You knowThat fic.





	1. i love you, honeybear (a)

**Author's Note:**

> tw: homophobic slurs, depression and anxiety, quick decision making  
> this is completely self-indulgent and it's dark. fair warning.

_Oh, Honeybear, Honeybear, Honeybear_

Larry never knew how much he could hate the stars in the sky. But here he is... despising them like they'd done something to offend him personally. Which they had, but it's not like he can do anything about that now. He'd spent countless hours outside of these apartments, sneaking cigarettes, watching the same stars move across the night sky, and praying to whatever deity would listen that he wouldn't get caught. He remembered thinking how happy he'd be when he finally got to move out. He remembered thinking that if he could just get through the next two years, the next year, the next six months, the next day, the next second then things could only get better. He just had to be patient with the world.  _Never make a decision too fast,_ Mom would say,  _and never overcook your chicken._

He didn't know how awful leaving his home would truly be. He was freshly eighteen, and all he had was a guitar and barely a grand saved up from working concessions at a racetrack. Taking advice, especially from his mother, was something Larry was never good at. He took off in a van he'd bought from one of the tenants of Addison Apartments, and he was off with a couple of burnt chicken wings he'd got at a gas station and some change rattling around in his dirty jean pocket. It was sobering see his childhood home get smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, to say the least. He was sure he'd left a part of himself there, and he wasn't sure he was ever going to turn around to retrieve it. Eventually, Addison Apartments just disappeared, and he had no idea when he would see it again... if he would see it again.

Larry started off doing open-mic nights for free, living off of the things he remembered to pack and dipping into his savings when he needed to (which was all the time). He spent countless nights in the back of his van, using water bottles to bathe and wash his hair. He'd packed a portable stove that he cooked ramen on more times than he's proud of. There's an old yellow mattress that sits on the floor of the van, blankets piled up, and that's where he sleeps. It gets really cold in the winter, hotter in the summer. Uncomfortable year around. Sometimes he would cave and get a cheap motel room for a night.

Those were the nights when the guilt would set in. Thoughts of his mom would start to creep into the corners of his mind, picking and poking and flapping, trying to get his attention.  _Remember not to pick,_ he thought to himself, as if the thoughts in his head were like a scab and he was trying to keep it from bleeding.

 

_Mascara, blood,_

 

But he always would. He would pick and poke and yell and scream, try to do anything to keep the guilt from eating him alive. The voice in his head was self-deprecating at best, vile at times, and downright destructive at the worst of it. Not listening to it was never an option, and sometimes he even felt like it was him against the thoughts in his head. He would remember what he said to Mom that night... the argument they'd had...The way he'd stomped out of the house, his guitar slung over one shoulder and a suitcase gripped tightly with white knuckles... Mom's black mascara running down her cheeks as she got smaller and smaller and then disappeared along with everything else Larry had once called home.

And then he'd toss and turn in his shitty motel bed until the sun poked up over the horizon, turning the cloud a puke orange, and he was forced to check out of the room, feeling more tired and empty and cold than when he'd been sleeping in his van. And he would vow to himself:  _Never again._ That is... Until the allure of hot water and a soft bed called him back to yet another shitty motel room.

He was in a one-formerly-mentioned-shitty-hotel room, leaning on the hotel sink, brushing his teeth with the last of his toothpaste (he'd buy more later) and humming a melancholic tune to himself when his phone started to ring. He glanced over, seeing a familiar number dance across the top of the screen. It was one of the bars he'd been working with, probably calling him to ask if he'd cover someone else's set tonight. He picked it up, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth as he walked out of the bathroom

"'Ullo?" Larry answered, plopping down on the springy motel bed.

"Is this Larry Johnson?" A small, muffled voice spoke into the phone.

Larry pulled the phone away from his ear. He always gets shitty reception when he stays in a motel, and he'd started to realize that it didn't matter what motel. All of them seemed to have an unspoken rule about having zero signal. Probably why it's so easy to get murdered in one of these things.

A scowl twisted it's way onto Larry's face as the man still sounded like it was being muffled by something, so Larry got up and stood by the window, hoping the connection would be better. Pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth he said, "This is him."

The person on the other phone laughed nervously but then switched so it sounded like they were clearing throat half-way through. Larry hmphed, smiling a little to himself.  _Indecisive. I bet he's a Libra._

"Oh, well, I was just calling to ask if you could come in tonight and perform a set. You'll be paid the same as last Friday." The person still sounded muffled, like they were covering their mouth, and Larry rolled his eyes at the shitty motel signal. He'll just to deal with it for one phone call.

"Tell Henry I will," Larry answered.

"Alright, awesome," the man on the other end replied. "I'll see you here at ten." There was a finality, a goodbye, mixed in with the person's voice.

Maybe it was because he hadn't talked to anybody in what felt like a week, but he didn't want to hang up with this guy just yet. He didn't want the room to go back to silence just yet. Didn't want to be left alone with his guilty conscious and his traitorous mind. So instead of letting him hang up on him and go back to his job, Larry asked with a small smile, "Can I ask you a question?"

The man on the other end stuttered a bit before answering, caught off-guard. "Y-yeah, sure. W-What is it?"

Larry dropped his voice, deepening it, whispering the words as if they were a secret. "What's your sign, gorgeous?" Flirting never failed to entertain him.

The person on the other end let out of huff, and he could've sworn that it sounded like a laugh, but with the crackling in his ear and muffled sounds on the other end, it was hard to say. Larry lets out his own little chuckle anyway, not knowing if it was appropriate, waiting for the person to reply.

"How 'bout I make a deal with you, Johnson." Their voice dropped down an octave, and Larry would be lying if the sound of his name being said like that didn't send a little spark shooting down his spine. "You get here at ten, perform your set, and we'll discuss our zodiacs over a drink."

Larry couldn't stop his cheeks from heating up, and his heart was starting to pound in his chest. Suddenly, he was kind of glad that he'd gotten a motel room for the night. "That sounds really nice... erm..." Shit, he didn't know this guy's name. Fuck.

"Sal." Oh.

"Sal..." Larry tasted the name in his mouth, and he didn't mind the way it rolled off his tongue so easily.  _Sal..._  The person on the other end was quiet for a moment, and Larry could only hope that he didn't regret offering. Someone cleared their throat on the other end and then the voice was back, sounding a bit clearer than before. "I'll tell Henry you'll be here by  _ten,_ okay?"

"Yeah, alright."

"See you in a few, Larr--"

"I bet you're a Libra, right?" Larry cut off, remembering that if this person hung up, he'd be by himself again, and that's not what he wanted.

There was a chuckle on the other end. "Good _bye,_ Larry," Sal said humorously, and then the line went dead. Larry smiled to himself as he walked back over to the bathroom and continued washing up. He didn't like the silence any more than he thought he would, but at least now, he had something to look forward to. Shit, he might even get some ass tonight, not that he's expecting to. He didn't even know what Sal looked like. Although, that voice (what he could hear of it anyway) had him excited in some type of way. And the thought of the motel room not being so lonely anymore was enough to make him feel a warmth start in the inside of his stomach.

Once he was done washing up, he grabbed his guitar and made his way over to the bus station. He wasn't going to drive his van to the bar because he was a bit tight on cash, and gas was expensive. The bar wasn't that far anyway. If he had a little bit more time, he'd walk, but he hadn't been planning on working tonight. And hey, if it got him out of the hotel room, then it was a welcome change of plans.

The Bar was simply called  _Diane,_ as shown by the wooden sign out front with the name carved in curly letters, although he'd heard it reference as " _The Classy Lady"_ (The name the original bar was called before Henry bought and renamed it.) As well as what the locals call it:  _Blue's._  It was an old, dusty building with dirty gutters and an aged air of charisma and charm that one can only find in buildings like this one. There was one neon sign behind the bar, and the rest of the lighting was warm and dim.There were tables scattered in front of a small platform that he'd be performing on later tonight. In the corner sat a pool table, three men already circling it, brandishing cues like they were weapons. The floor was wooden and scuffed and needed to be swept. The walls were home to several gaudy paintings and pieces of art that Larry has been caught admiring far more than a few times.

Despite its small size, the bar was packed. People were everywhere, knocking into each other, making out, fighting, drinking, and it wasn't even ten yet. Larry bit his lip. Maybe Henry will let him keep his guitar case open for tips. That would be the cherry on top of his day. He wouldn't get his hopes up too high, however. If Henry said no, he'd keep his mouth shut and count his blessings.

There was a man scrubbing at one of the counters when Larry walked in, orange hair sitting on top of his head like a bird's nest. Beetle black eyes peered over the man's glasses which were balanced precariously on his nose as he looked down at the counter, scrubbing away at a spot that he couldn't seem to get rid of.

Larry walked up to him, setting his guitar down in front of the bar. The man looked up, pushing his glasses further onto his face and throwing the towel down somewhere behind him.

"Hey, uh... Larry, right?" He asked, giving Larry a polite smile when he nodded. "Hey, nice to meet you. My name's Todd." He offered out a hand which Larry shook. He didn't really understand handshakes. Some people formulate their opinion of you based solely on how well you shake their hand, and Larry's just never really gotten into it. He supposed it was nice, added some structure to the idea of meeting someone for the first time, but it wasn't something he'd ever try initiating.

Todd gave him a smile, grabbing a wet glass. "I saw you playing last week. You're not awful."

Larry snorted, trying to keep his eyeballs from rolling out of his head. "Thanks, I think."

"I'm serious, man! You're a lot better than some of the people we've had come in here on Open Mic Night." Todd laughed as he continued to clean the dirty champagne glasses. "There was this one guy who started  _yodeling."_ Todd gave him a horrified look. "I almost quit then and there."

Larry huffs out a chuckle, taking this moment to take a look around the bar. There wasn't really anyone that stood out to him. No one that looked like their name was Sal, as funny as that sounds. He felt like he would  _know_ when he saw the other man. There was this feeling in his gut, and he couldn't explain it. He'd know Sal when he saw him. He would. Larry's eyes narrowed as he swept the bar again, looking harder. He knew he could just ask, but he didn't want to seem desperate, right?  _You're always desperate. Who are you trying to fool?_

Larry shook his head, trying to clear the ugly thoughts from his head. At that moment, Todd cleared his throat, getting Larry's attention. "Oh!" Todd exclaimed. "I almost forgot. Henry wanted me to tell you that he wants you on stage in," Todd checks his watch. Think you can set up that fast?"

Larry nodded. "I think I can manage."

He grabbed his guitar and made his way to the front of the bar where the platform was. There was already an amp sitting there, plugged in. He set his instruments down, pulling out the small electric acoustic that his dad had bought him for his thirteenth birthday. The thing had been repaired and restringed more times than Larry can count, but it's always been with him. It's always been a part of him, and he would rather die than part with it. The strings made a  _plink-plunk_ noise as he picked at them, trying to see if they were tuned. He fiddled with it for a bit before he was satisfied, and then he set it up on a stand to his left where it would remain until it was time for him to start. He reached a hand back in the case and pulled out a crummy tambourine. It wasn't in the best condition, and it didn't sound the greatest, but it was the only thing he had at the moment. There were two velcro straps that came off the side, and for one of the songs in his set, he straps the tambourine to his foot so he can tap it and still play his guitar. Sometimes, the tambourine will come off, though, and he has to go the rest of the song without it. That's pretty embarrassing, but if he's being honest, his music sounds a lot better with something that resembles a beat then none at all.

While he was setting everything up, he could hear someone sniggering. A quick glance around the room, he found a man staring at him, smiling sardonically. He was wearing a purple shirt that was baggy and too bright to be easy to look at. His blond hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a week. His eyes were small, and they held a kind of cruelty that Larry had only seen a couple of times in his life. His nose was long and sharp, and Larry could tell that this man had a habit of sticking it in places where it had no right to be. He was sitting next to two other men that were cackling at something Blondie had said. Larry could already tell that they weren't the type of people he needed to associate himself with, and he continued preparing for his performance.

Once he was done setting up, he remembered that he still had to talk to Henry about the tips. He stepped off of the platform and started walking to the back room where Henry's office was, waving to Todd as he passed.

The door to his office was closed, so Larry lifted a fist and rapped on the wood lightly.

"What is it? Come in!" Someone yelled hurriedly from the other side. Larry turned to handle and walked into the room.

Henry was not the one sitting at his desk.

Instead, a blue-haired man in a  _mask_ was sitting in his chair, hunched over a pile of paperwork. The mask was white except for the top right side where it looked more purplish. Two sets of straps wrapped around the man's head, keeping it in place. His hair was tied back into a low ponytail, and his bangs fell over his mask, sweaty and tangled by the looks of it. Larry thought it was kind of odd, but Henry was a weird person, so maybe he shouldn't be too quick to judge. The man looked up when Larry walked in, and Larry found that looking into the eye-holes of the mask made him a little uneasy. The man had two different colored eyes.

"Oh," Larry said, standing in the threshold of the office. "I'm sorry to bother you. I was looking for Henry."

The man sighed, and it was pretty unsettling to have a face staring at you when the face had no expression.

"Henry will be back in a couple of minutes. Is there something I can help you with, Larry?" the man said, and now that Larry could hear him without the door blocking them or the crappy connection at the motel, he knew that this was Sal.

The same warm anticipation from before came back full force, and he could feel his heart jump with something that he couldn't quite describe. "Sal," Larry greeted amiably. "I didn't know Henry was your dad."

He could hear Sal laugh, sounding like sunlight, but the mask's mouth never moved. Larry wondered why Sal was wearing a mask, but that seemed like an approach that Sal wouldn't appreciate right now.

"Well," Sal started, leaning back in his chair. "We've only talked once on the phone... And that was an hour ago." There was a tone of friendliness in Sal's voice that set Larry's nerves at ease, the tension in his shoulders unwinding slowly.

"Still could've mentioned it."

"I'll remember that for next time," Sal replied playfully, shrugging and it made Larry break into a huge grin, something that hasn't happened in what feels like forever.

"So you work here?" Larry asked, wanting to know more about the blue-haired man.

Sal nodded, his head bobbing up and down. "Technically, I'm considered a manager. I'm in charge of keeping the employees in line, and I handle complaints. Some paperwork here and there. Not much, but hey, it's my life." Sal's tone pitched downward, sardonic. There was a bitterness there that Larry was familiar with; he'd felt the same way when he was stuck at the apartments. He wished he could go back. Sal probably wanted nothing more than to leave.

"So I take it you don't like working with your dad?" Larry tried to keep his tone light and airy, but he had this overwhelming need for Sal to know that he  _understood._

"It's alright," Sal replied, but it was said with such malice that Larry could practically see the lie as if it were being illuminated by a single spotlight. If only Larry could see Sal's face... then he'd know what he was really thinking. And he wouldn't have to guess at the reason why he wears a mask.

Sal shrugged once, and Larry's curiosity about the man only grew. He didn't really care what Sal looked like. He wasn't into the whole "beauty" thing anyway. Ever since the bullies in his school started calling him Toucan Sam, he's based his opinions on who people are rather than what they look like. And right now, Sal was more than just a weird guy in a mask. He was  _interesting._ He had a story to tell, and Larry was eager to listen to it. He'd never met someone that intrigued him as much as Sal.

"You're supposed to go on in like five minutes," Sal said abruptly, checking the clock on the wall. "So what can I do for you? And can it be done quickly?"

Oh. Larry had been so blind-sided and enamored by Sal that he forgot what he'd come in here for. "I was just wondering if it's okay if I leave my guitar case open for tips."

Sal nodded, "Yeah, I don't care. If my dad says anything to you, tell him I said it was okay."

Larry nodded, beaming. He was about to turn and leave when a memory came to the forefront of his mind. "Hey, Sal?" He asked, turning around, a devilish smirk on his lips.

Sal looked up, "Hmm?"

"We're still on for drinks after I'm done?"

Sal chuckled, hanging his head for a moment and pulling his shoulders up to his cheeks. When he looked back up, he held Larry's gaze. "I get off at one."

Larry's smirk turned into a Cheshire grin. "Great!" Larry chirped. "See you then!" He gave a wave, and before Sal could do something awful like change his mind, Larry skipped out of the office, shutting the door behind him. There was a pleasant hum in his chest, and he was ready to get on stage at last.

He walked back to the platform, strapped the tambourine to his right foot, grabbed his guitar and took a seat on the stool that was seated in the middle of the platform behind a microphone. He plugged in his guitar at the same time he flicked the on button for the mic.

"How's everybody doing tonight?" He asked into the microphone, wanting to let the people know he was about to start but mostly just to test if the mic actually worked. He had a gig at a bar that didn't have any wall outlets, and that was his first and last gig working at that particular bar.

The crowd cheered and whistled excitedly. "That's what I like to hear!" He looked out into the crowd, noticing Todd at the bar pouring someone a drink. His gaze traveled to the man in the bright purple shirt. He had a new glass of beer which he was chugging, and Larry found himself hoping that the man was too drunk to be a heckler.

He waiting for the cheers to die down before starting. "Alright, guys, my name's Larry Johnson, some of you have probably seen me here before." A wave of shrieks came from a group of women sitting closer to the front. He gave them a wink and the most charming smile he could muster as he continued. "This first song that I'm going to sing for you guys was written by Amigo the Devil." There was a single holler from the far back corner. "That person knows what's up." Larry pointed in their general direction. "It's called  _Hell and You,_ and I hope you all enjoy."

The usual performance nerves were starting to get him, but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to. He placed his fingers on the neck of his guitar, breathed in deeply, and started plucking the notes out. As he played the intro, his nerves started to melt, and he zoned in.

When Larry played music, there was nothing else. It was just him and his guitar and the music that he was creating and breathing life into. The bar faded away; the noise and the people disappeared.

As he sang the first lines, he realized that he didn't mind being alone when he was playing music. It was comforting and calm, and he finally felt like he was the one in control and not the crazy world around him. The loneliness he kept bottled up inside him broke free and came out in the form of agonized lyrics of the chorus.

_"Cause I'd rot in hell with you if you'd ask me to. I love the shitty things we do together. Live with me in this sin forever"_

He finished up the song, playing the final chord with finality, letting all the emotions of playing leak out of him. The crowd screamed, thundering applause throwing him a little off-kilter. He let a nervous smile play out on his face before he schooled his expression. "You guys like that one?"

There were more screams and claps, and Larry just laughed. "The next one is a little bit more light-hearted. Kinda weird, but I wrote it while I was high on a fucked up batch of DMT that my ex-boyfriend gave me." The joke gets a unanimous chuckle out of the crowd, and Larry was about to start playing when there was a very loud and drawn out  _boo!_ coming from the crowd.

Larry already knew who it was without having to look. The guy in the ugly purple shirt stood up, glaring angrily at him. "I can't believe they let fags into this place!" The men beside him were nodding along, arms crossed over their burly chests.

"Well, they let you in, didn't they?" Larry responded innocently, trying to keep from leering. The crowd let out a few nervous titters as they watched the standoff.

The heckler's face grows red, and Larry thought he was about to see smoke come out of someone's ears for the very first time. Before he could come out with any more slurs, Todd appears beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Todd says something that Larry can't hear, and the man grows angrier. His hands ball into fists at his side. Todd says something else, glancing at the two other men, who had gotten out of their seats.

Purple Shirt scoffs, face redder than any type of tomato that Larry had ever come across. He turns his back on Todd and marches out of the bar, his two friends following after him.

"Anyways," Larry transitions, waving his thank you to Todd who gives him a nod. "Let's continue. This song is called  _'Mister Mayhem.'"_

He performed the rest of his set with no problems, and he made sure to keep his eyes peeled for Sal. Every time he finished a song, he would glance out over the small crowd and look at all the different faces staring at him, searching for the one that was covered with a white mask. He never saw the man, however. Larry tried to deny the disappointment he felt every time his eyes danced across the bar and didn't see the one person he was looking for, but he couldn't. The idea of Sal watching him play sent a thrill through him, but the reality that Sal probably has work to do instead of listening in hit him harder than he thought it would have.

Larry was starting to think that maybe Sal really wasn't that impressed with him. Maybe he'd taken one look at Larry's crumpled band tee and said  _hell no._

_"I get off at one."_

And that was the only thing that kept Larry from spiraling down a self-deprecating hole of blackness.

Larry's set only lasted roughly an hour, so he still had some time to kill before Sal got off. He headed down to the local convenience store for some toothpaste and a drink with more caffeine than what's considered healthy.

He was in the alley by the bar, heading back, when he heard someone scream. "Hey, Music Man!" He heard someone yell, words echoing off the alley walls, and he could feel his blood run cold. He knew that voice. Had heard it hours earlier when it was shouting slurs at him. It had to be the heckler in the purple shirt, and Larry knew that he was about to have a bad night.

He stopped walking and turned around, seeing the heckler and his friends standing at the other end of the alley. To say they looked mean was an understatement. One of them was cracking their knuckles, and Larry would have laughed at how cliche it looked if it wasn't for the rabbit-paced beat of his heart and the voice in his head screaming at him to  _run! Run, now!_

"Hey, guys, I'm not looking for any trouble," Larry said lowly, raising his eyebrows.

"You should have thought of that before you got us kicked out!" The heckler yelled.

Larry's hands balled into fists at his side, and his breathing grew deeper. "You got kicked out because you were being an asshole. Don't blame me. Blame your shitty personality."

That's all Larry got to say before all three of them were on him. Done with talking, he guessed. One threw a couple of punches, catching Larry in the nose. Pain bloomed behind his eyes, and his face was suddenly awash in red. He stumbled backward, tripping over his feet and tumbling to the ground, his guitar case flying out of his hands. His whole body was in pain, and he was screaming. But they wouldn't stop. Once he was down, they started with the kicking. Larry couldn't get a breath in between the three different pairs of shoes that were leaving marks on his clothes. He thought for a brief second that he would die here. He thought of his mother's face. What would she say? How would she even find out? Who's going to help her? Then he thought about how much the hospital bill was going to be if he survived. It was definitely out of his price range.

All of those thoughts left his head when one of them snatched up his guitar from the ground, taking it out of the case.

Larry didn't care that feet were flying at him, kicking him in his chest, his legs, his groin. He didn't care that his nose was gushing blood and that his shirt was getting stained. He didn't care that his head was pounding and his vision was starting to blur. Didn't care that his ribs were hurting and he couldn't breathe.

His guitar was the only thing that mattered to him. His guitar was the only thing he had left. They couldn't touch it. They couldn't hurt it! He didn't have anything else! Surely, they must see that! Panic and desperation had him reaching out a hand, trying to stop the man, but there was a well-placed kick to his temple and everything went black.

 

_ash and cum_

 

When Larry came around, the only thing he could think about was where he could get a gram and a half of weed and some rolling papers. The ache in his side made him gasp; his eyes shot open, and the dim lights of the bar looked so bright that he had to squeeze them shut again. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was those three guys. One of them had grabbed his guitar.

His stomach rolled with nausea. His guitar is probably in pieces by now, and it was all his fault! He shouldn't have instigated them. He should have just kept walking. The bar was right around the corner, and if he had just kept walking then maybe his guitar would still be intact.

Tears were starting to prick at the edge of his eyes, and it wasn't because of the pain. He squeezed them shut tighter.

He could hear someone talking, but their voice was distant and warbled. He decided that thinking about his next joint was a nicer turn his thoughts could take, but he didn't get to dwell on it long because someone was laying a hand on his shoulder, and it made everything hurt  _worse._ A distressed noise fell from his lips as it was all he could manage to express his discomfort.

The hand gripped him tighter. There was a breath against his ear, and then a familiar voice whispering, "I got some Aspirin for you."

"Don't need your fuckin' Aspirin," Larry managed to tumble out. "Need a bowl or somethin'." He struggled to reach a hand up and push the person's hand off of his shoulder but failed.

Something in the back of his mind told him that he should be a lot more worried about his current condition that he currently is, but he'd passed out at more parties than he'd care to admit to, and he's woken up in a lot worse situations. This was nothing. If he's being honest with himself, nothing really mattered to him at that point. Like the condition his body was in or the person who was hovering over him. How could he? He felt like he'd already lost  _everything._

The person who was hovering around him snorted and Larry could feel the person shift around. He heard them stand up. Good. Maybe they were finally going to leave him the hell alone and let him mourn in peace. However, when he knew they were gone, his thoughts took a nasty turn.

_You can't even take care of a guitar. What the fuck were you thinking? You shouldn't be here. You should leave. You should get in your van and drive until it stops. After that, you need to start walking. Don't stop until you die._

"You tryin' to smoke or what?" That voice came back interrupting an internal struggle with himself, only this time it was muffled, and it triggered something in Larry's memories. The muted scratchiness, and the way it always sounded like they were talking through a piece of cellophane all the time... Sal.

Slowly, Larry opened his eyes, and the person who had been occupying his thoughts all night came into focus. And when Larry looked into those mismatched eyes, all the thoughts in his head quieted, and his brow smoothed out even though he wasn't aware of scrunching them together. Suddenly, all the anger and sorrow seemed to drain out of him.

Sal had changed from his work clothes into a pair of torn jeans and a red sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off his small carved muscles. Sal was thin and kind of gangly, but Larry would be lying if he said he wasn't attractive. He didn't really like to look at people for their looks, but the way Sal's jeans hung to his hips was a sight Larry was glad he saw.

Larry's eyes traveled up to see the pin joint pinched between two of Sal's fingers. Thank,  _God!_

"We're allowed to smoke in here?" Larry asked, glancing around at the empty bar like someone was waiting around the corner to bust them. It reminded him of all the times in high school when he would sneak out to smoke, always looking around the corner to see if someone was coming to tell him off.

Sal shrugs, looking down at the joint and smooth out the edge of the paper. "It's my dad's bar. Dad went home. We're closed for tonight. I don't see why not." The unbothered way in which Sal said it made it seem like he'd done this often, and if the guy keeps pre-rolled joints at his  _job_  than who was Larry to argue with him?

"Fuck, Sal, you are the  _best._ You gonna light it?" He tried to sit up too fast and a sharp pain shot through his entire body making him wince. Sal made to reach out to him, but he shook his head, sitting up more slowly this time and leaning back.

"You sure you're okay?" Sal asked, his voice hesitant like he was afraid of scaring Larry off like he was a wounded animal.

"Yeah, I'll be alright. They're going to have to do a lot more than kick me a couple of times if they wanna get rid of me." Larry tried to hide the pain he was in with a chuckle and a smile, but it didn't look like Sal was buying it. He huffed, and since Larry couldn't see his facial expression, it was hard to tell if it was amused or annoyed. Larry could only hope for the former.

The blue-haired man pulled up the mask just a little to stick the joint between his lips, lighting it. Larry watched the lighter ignite in his hand, and he watched it illuminate the man's jawline. Strong and square. There was a freckle on his chin, and half of his mouth was missing.  _Huh. Not exactly what Larry was expecting._

But he just stared longingly at the joint.

Sal handed it to him, pulling the mask back down and blowing out smoke. Larry took a couple of hits off the joint before offering it back to Sal who just shook his head. Larry shrugged and continued toking.

"So... how did I end up here?" Larry asked after a couple of minutes of silence. He didn't like when things got too quiet. It made his thoughts seem a lot louder than they actually were.

Sal made an unhappy noise, looking away from Larry. "I heard screaming coming from the alley. When I got out there, you were already on the ground, and you weren't moving." Sal clicked his tongue. "I was actually kind of scared that those guys were going to kill you."

"Well," Larry started with a smile. "If they killed me then I would've missed our appointment." He gave Sal a playful wink. "And I can't just stand up a beautiful man such as yourself." He hoped he wasn't coming off too strong, hoped that the desperation for another human connection wasn't so obvious that it scared Sal away.

Sal snorted, and Larry could practically feel Sal rolling his eyes. "Maybe we can reschedule the drinks for next weekend? That way you can, like, heal or something."

Larry sighed, content. "I'd like that."

Larry took another drag, and a horrible feeling settled over him. His guitar... he wouldn't be able to play at Diane's anymore. He wouldn't be able to play  _anywhere._ There goes his income. He doesn't have enough in the bank to buy another one, either.

_You're going to have to go home. Go home to your disappointed mother. Tell her all the ways you failed. I'm sure she'll be_ so eager  _to have you back in the house, you fucking loser._

"Hey," Sal said softly, sitting down on the coffee table in front of the couch that Larry was crashing on. He placed a comforting hand on Larry's knee. Heat bloomed at the contact, and Larry couldn't help but stare at the hand. "What's up? Are you okay?" He gasped, his eyes going wide behind the mask. "You don't think you have a concussion, do you?"

Larry shook his head frantically, causing a wave of nausea to roll through his stomach. He stilled, waiting for the room to stop spinning before he spoke. "No... No, no, I'm okay." Sal's eyes narrowed, and he took his hand off of Larry's knee. He instantly wished Sal hadn't moved. "I swear I'm alright. Those guys... Those guys got a hold of my guitar and--" Larry's voice broke. He couldn't say it. He didn't even want to think about it.

"You mean that guitar?" Sal pointed beside him, and sure enough, under one of the tables was his guitar case, lid open, revealing the untouched acoustic. Larry's eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped open. He knew then that everything was going to be okay, no matter what the universe hurled at him next. He could survive anywhere, on any schedule as long as he had his guitar.

"It's, um... It's still in one piece, but I can't say the same about your tambourine." Sal turned his head, and Larry followed his gaze to the broken tambourine sitting on top of the table. He almost laughed because that tambourine already had one foot in the grave already. It was about time to find another one, and let that one just rest in peace.

Larry felt lightness and relief settle into him as he toked some more, blowing out smoke from his nose. "You're a fucking life saver, Sal, holy shit. You got me  _and_ my guitar out in one piece? You need a medal or something." Breathing felt easier now. Living felt easier, and it was the most relaxed Larry has been in a long time. Although, he's starting to blame his lazy mood on the weed.

Sal chuckled, his head shaking back and forth. "So who were those assholes, anyways?" he asked, leaning back on his hands.

"I couldn't tell you. During my set, they were acting foolish and being dumb. Yelling some homophobic bullshit. I think Todd kicked them out, so... Guess they were pretty upset about that." Now that everything was said and done, Larry found himself feeling angry. It wasn't rage, nor did it take up the forefront of Larry's mind. It was like a simmering pot sitting at the back of his head, waiting for him to stir some shit up. He was angry because those assholes got away with it! He was angry because no one ever taught those shit heads to be fucking respectful.

"Man... people are assholes." The naivete in which Sal said it made Larry throw his head back and let out a deep-bellied laugh. Sal glanced over at him, trying to decide if what he'd said was actually as funny as Larry thought it was, and Larry took another hit of the joint, coughing this time because his lungs were tired.

"That's just the way the world works, Sal. 'Life is shit and then you die.' Blah, blah, blah." Larry waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sure you've heard all about that, haven't you?"

Sal laughed, but there was an air of bitterness around it, cupped in the palm his laugh, hidden to anyone who didn't do the same. Luckily, Larry found that he could read Sal pretty well, and that should be counted as a blessing because the man wears a fucking mask. "Yeah... I guess you can say that?" Sal sniffled a little bit. "I've known the world was a shitty place for a long time."

Larry glanced over, his eyes dancing across the porcelain surface of Sal's faux face. "Is that why you wear a mask?" Larry bit his lip. He didn't know if he was going too far with asking about that particular detail right now. After all, they'd just met earlier that day, but he figured that if he was out of line, Sal would tell him so he could apologize.

"The mask is a prosthetic." Sal's eyes glanced from side to side, and Larry felt his stomach drop.  _Sal would tell him if he's making him uncomfortable, right?_ To be honest, when he'd first seen it, he thought it was just because this guy was edgy. But then he lifted up the mask to light the joint and saw that  _no that was not the case at all,_ he was a bit nervous to ask about it. So he didn't. Maybe once they got to know each other a little bit, Sal would open up to him about it, but Larry didn't want to push him to that.

Larry didn't know what to say after that. Did he go on with his pre-planned and rehearsed speech about why and how the world was fucked up? How the universe didn't need either of them and didn't care about what happened to them. How it was easier to just do whatever you want and damn the consequences. Now that he was going over it in his head, he was pretty sure the only thing Sal would hear is juvenile snivel and immature complaining. Larry has no idea what this man has been through, and it seems a bit douchey of him to run this conversation down an even more negative direction.

He let the silence build and build until he had to say something, so he just said, "So...?" His heart was racing again, but the smoke in his lungs made him feel disconnected from his body.

"Yeah, the world is pretty messed up," Sal replied, shaking his head and laughing humorlessly. "And I guess this mask showed me how nasty people can be." Sal made a disgruntled noise, and Larry did the only thing that he could think of. He placed his hand on Sal's knee, tapping it a couple of times and offering him the joint that was in his hand. Sal took it this time, lifting up his mask just a little to smoke it. His hand lingered on Sal's knee for just a moment too long, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"You sound like you've been through a lot," Larry said as Sal exhaled and instantly took another pull from it. Larry can't help the way his eyes traveled from his chin and then down his neck and then down his bare arms. He blows out the smoke in Larry's face, breaking him from his trance. Larry's eyes meet Sal's, and his cheeks start to heat up. He had  _definitely_ been caught staring.  _Oh, well._

"Everyone goes through different things..." Sal continued, voice light as he hands the joint back to Larry. "But the only thing that matters is how we grow from it." He tugs down the mask, fixing Larry with a level stare. One might even call it heated, and that look ignited a kindling fire inside of Larry's chest.

"And philosophical... You're getting dreamier by the second." The weed was starting to loosen his tongue, but he also meant every word that he said so he couldn't blame the joint that much. His thoughts were his own, but right now, he had no problem sharing them with Sal.

Said man makes a strangled noise, putting his head in his hands. Larry wished he could see if he was blushing. His mind supplied a mental image, but it wasn't enough. He wanted to  _see._ "I heard you playing tonight," Sal said, changing the subject.

Larry rolled with it easily. "Did you?" Larry smiled. "I didn't see you."

"Uh... yeah. I was in the back." Sal cleared his throat, looking away from the other man.

"What'd you think?" Larry asked, leaning forward a little bit, invested in Sal's answer whether he likes it or not.

"You're... really good." Sal breathed, looking down at his laps where his fingers were fidgeting with each other. "Like... really,  _really_ good." Larry felt his face heat up, and his lips pulled back in a wry grin. His stomach flipped with the compliment. People have told him he was good before, sure, but no one ever said it the way Sal did. Like Larry was something to be in awe of, like his music actually mattered and wasn't just entertaining noise.

"It's okay to be in awe of talent," Larry replied smoothly, laughing. Sal snorted, shaking his head and slapping playfully at his arm.

"Glad to see the fame hasn't gotten to your head."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to be an egoist."

"I don't think that you have  _anything_ to worry about," Sal bantered playfully, making Larry laugh as he fixed him with a look that Larry couldn't pin if he'd tried. Larry couldn't remember the last time anyone had made him truly laugh, and yet here he is. This man that Larry barely knows is making him laugh, saving his guitar, telling him that he's good at music. There's a warm feeling starting to settle in Larry's stomach. He could feel the THC kicking in, and he couldn't help but get stupid impulses. He wondered what Sal's hair would feel like under the pads of his fingertips, so he brought a hand up to a strand of Sal's unnaturally blue hair. Sal's feelings about this remained a mystery because his mask completely covered his expression, and he didn't seem to move a muscle. Larry wasn't really thinking about it. He just wanted to know, so he figured it out. It was rough and a little bit greasy, not unlike his own.

"Do you die it," Larry whispered quietly, twirling the strand between his fingers, unaware of how close he'd actually gotten to Sal.

" _No,"_ Sal remarked sarcastically, his tone breathy and amused, and it only spurred Larry on more. "My hair is just naturally blue."

"Well," Larry started, unable to pull his fingers away from Sal's hair. He looked through the dark eyeholes and saw a pair of mismatched eyes looking back at him. His heart was beating faster than it had all night. Larry smiled wider, his lips pulling back to show his nicotine-stained teeth.

"Well?" Sal replied.

"I'd love to take you out sometime," Larry said trying to sound confident. He definitely wanted to take Sal out. Like on a real date. Like to a restaurant. He wanted to sit down at an expensive booth where the wine was more money than Larry's  _life,_ and he wanted Sal to order the best dish on the menu. He wanted candles and champagne and laughter. Sal deserved that.

"We're getting drinks next weekend," Sal pointed out, leaning a little further into Larry's space.

"Yeah, but what if I want to see you before then?" Larry kept his voice quiet, hoping that Sal could see that he was being serious about this. That this wasn't some kind of joke to him.

"I don't know about that," Sal said in a sing-song voice, making Larry's heart flip and flop. "I'm pretty busy all week."

"Well... what're you doing tonight?" There was a suggestive tone in Larry's voice. One that was very hard to mistake for anything else. He could see Sal's eyes widen marginally, but then he relaxed.

"That depends," Sal answered, and his eyes darted down to Larry's lips for a fraction of a second before coming back up to meet Larry's eyes. "What did you have in mind at two in the morning?"

Larry had plenty of things in mind, but he wasn't about to give those thoughts a voice. And Sal had a point. Nothing was open this time of night, so Larry kind of felt like a dumbass. "I'm sure we can think of something," Larry evaded instead.

"I should probably tell you that I don't really do the dating thing," Sal said abruptly, and it made something flip-flop in Larry's stomach.  _Why did he let me go that far if he doesn't date?_ Whatever. If Sal didn't like dating, then he'd have to live with that. But the heat was beginning to crawl under his skin, and he smashed the joint out in the ashtray. Sal tilted his head downward, fixing Larry with a stare that could only be described as intentional. Larry tried to swallow the lump that was building in his throat, and he wished for the eight hundredth time that night that he could just see this man's face.

"Are you saying you want to skip that part?" Larry asked, shifting in his seat, biting his lip. He heard Sal let out a breathy laugh, not taking his eyes off Larry.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," he replied in a low, dark voice, sending a spike of anticipation down Larry's spine.  _Fuck yes._ Larry shuffled a bit closer, moving his hand to the back of Sal's neck, trailing his fingers down the other man's neck, making him shiver. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his long digits, and Sal lets out a breathy sigh. Larry moved in closer, slotting on of his legs in between Sal's. He placed a chaste kiss on top of the mask's nose, on both of the cheeks, and then a small kiss on the lips. He heard Sal let out a muted huff, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Larry moved his mouth to the right, peppering kissing on the mask until he got the skin of Sal's ear. He tugged his earlobe into his mouth, sucking on it, making Sal gasp and push against him.

Larry chuckled darkly, leaning away from Sal and hearing his breathing, unsteady and unsure. Oh, shit.  _Did I go too far?_  "Sorry... I--" Larry was cut off from apologizing because Sal was shaking his head furiously.  _Guess not._

"Nah, I just don't want to do this in the middle of my dad's bar."

Larry's mouth fell into an 'o' shape as he looked around. The bar was empty, no one in sight, well past closing time, but still: the windows were wide open and god knows how many people's asses have been all over this couch. Larry nodded his head understandingly, but there was a fire still kindling inside of him. He shot Sal a devilish grin.

"So... do you want to take this back to your place or mine?" Larry asked, knowing that "his place" was actually a motel room.

He could practically feel the smile coming from Sal from behind the mask. He didn't have to guess. "Let's take this--" He gestured between them. "--back to your place. I don't know if my roommates are there or not, so... better not risk it."

Larry grinned, stood up, and grabbed a hold of one of Sal's offered hands. The pain of the last couple hours completely forgotten as Larry realized that he wouldn't have to spend another night all by himself with nothing but his ugly mind to keep him company. No, tonight wouldn't be one of those nights. Together, they walked out of the bar, and neither one of them had any idea what they were about to start.

 

_On the Rorschach sheets where we make love_

 

Larry woke up the next morning to an empty, cold bed and a note on his nightstand with a phone number on it.

It read:

_Larry, thanks so much for last night. Had a blast. Hope your ribs heal! See you next weekend unless you wanna give me a call sometime ;)_

Sal's signature was at the bottom in messy handwriting. Larry tried not to let it get to him. Tried not to think about the overwhelming disappointment and loneliness that made a home behind his ribs. Last night was amazing, and it was even better than Larry could've imagined. But now, laying down in stained sheets, the sorrow had started to creep back in. It felt like it had gotten worse like it knew that he had a break from the sadness and it was making up for lost time. He was starting to question whether last night was worth this feeling in his chest.

He thought about calling. He thought about texting. But he couldn't bring himself to get out of the motel bed. Housekeeping would come along and kick him out eventually. He didn't know why a night with Sal was different from any other person he'd taken to bed. Granted, Sal was a bit different. Sal had rescued him from a group of assholes, and then he had looked at him with those mismatched eyes, and Larry was all but puddy in his palms. Sal could've asked him to do anything last night, and he probably would have done it twice just to make sure Sal was happy with it.

Two days later and he still hadn't called or texted. He wanted to, but every time he typed the number into his phone, he just kept hearing, " _I should probably tell you that I don't date."_ He didn't want to be that clingy guy who won't leave you alone after you sleep with him.

He had a hard time sleeping that night. It might've been because the van was extremely cold, but Larry thinks it's most likely the tears that keep running down his cheeks.  _Alone. Alone. You are alone. Why are you surprised?_

Three days after that, and he still hadn't mustered up the courage to pick up the phone. He didn't even save Sal's number. He still had the note, though. Folded up tightly in one of his tin boxes where he keeps his cash. He knows that he should at least  _text_ him, but he can't bring himself to type out the words and make them sound normal. He didn't even know what he was doing. For a week, he's been scouring the internet at the local library trying to find new places that have an opening for him to play at. All the while knowing that if he left, he'd actually be leaving something behind. That's probably why the sinking feeling in his chest was getting harder and harder to ignore that longer time went on.

He had another gig at Diane's tomorrow. He'd see Sal then, have drinks with him as they'd planned. Larry could get some closure, which he had fooled himself into believing  _that_ was what he needed. He'd smooth everything over, get some peace of mind, and then he'll move on. Piece of cake. Easy as pie.

Only, Sal wasn't there when he was done with his set. He'd asked Henry where the other man was, and Henry had brushed him off, saying he wasn't feeling well. A sinking feeling stuck itself in Larry's stomach. He didn't want to believe that Sal was avoiding him, but it's still a very real possibility. A possibility that he didn't want to spend too much time thinking about, fearing that it would only give his thoughts more ammunition. And it had  _enough._

If Larry was being honest, he wanted to run into Sal in the hopes of repeating what they'd done that night in the hotel room. Sal might not like dating, and that was fine, but Larry couldn't help but think of Sal as more than just a lay. He wanted to get to know him. Wanted to figure out what kind of music he listened, what kind of movies he liked, what foods he would and wouldn't eat. Sal was the first person to strike Larry's interest in a very long time, and he couldn't help but be sad that nothing more than a one night stand came of it. But, damn, that one night stand was the best he'd ever had. He let his mind drift back to that night, searching for a brief moment of happiness that might pull him out of this dark hole he'd dug for himself.

The part that obviously stands out was when Sal had taken off the mask for the first time and stared at Larry like he was waiting for him to laugh. Larry huffed and tilted Sal's face toward him and kissed him the way he'd been wanting to all night. Maybe it was just a one night stand, but Sal deserved only the best. And Larry was capable of giving no less than the highest of respect. He wanted Sal to feel  _good_ with him, to feel  _safe_ because he'd made Larry feel the same way just hours before by just placing a hand on his knee.

So Larry kissed Sal until he was shaking, moaning. Kissed him until he forgot all about his problems until he could only feel Larry's hands on his skin, his lips on his neck, behind his ear. Panting. Screaming.

Shaking his head from his thoughts, Larry snapped back to the present. He hadn't seen Sal in a week and a half, and his gigs were starting to slow down. He'd have to pack up and move soon. He couldn't stay in this town any longer. He was starting to run low on reserves, and he'd have to go to the next town and start the hiring process all over.

The homesickness was starting up again, and he tried to think of a way to nip it in the bud. He knew that he wanted to see Sal again, to tell him goodbye, and he wasn't going to talk himself out of it this time. The blue haired man deserved a goodbye whether he wanted it or not.

He'd made up his mind. He'd pack up his van tonight, text Sal to let him know that he was going to drop by, and then say goodbye or whatever. Larry's heart was heavy in his chest, but he knew there was no other way. There was no way he could survive in a small town like this where everyone knew about everyone's business. No... This town wouldn't do at all.

 

_Fuck the world, damn straight malaise_

__It may be just us who feel this way_ _

 

But despite the unwritten rules of one night stands, he wasn't able to get Sal out of his mind. The man lingered in his thoughts, the ghost of his breath settling into his memories like they belonged there. The feeling of his hands on Larry's arms, his back, his neck. Larry tried to think of why his thoughts kept lingering on the blue-haired man, but it didn't take long for him to realize. Sal was reminiscent of the sun in the way he made Larry feel. He felt like warmth on his skin, and however brief their encounter was, he didn't think he was willing to let that feeling go  _just_ yet. Sue him.

He sent Sal a quick text before driving to Diane's, heart racing as he hit the send button, and then he left his phone in the car. He was scared to see what Sal had said (more scared to see if he had sent anything at all because Larry doesn't think he can handle being left on read).

He walked through the bar doors, soft country music and the stench of booze hitting him in the face. His eyes glanced around the room, looking, looking, looking. Sal wasn't anywhere to be seen. Not his blue hair, not his mismatched eyes, not his red hoodie. But then again, Larry's never seen Sal in the front before. At least, not when they're open.

Todd was tending the bar when Larry walked up to him. He smiled when he noticed Larry, and he slung the towel he was holding over his shoulder. "Larry!" He greeted gleefully.

"Hey, Todd," Larry replied, leaning against the bar.

"What can I do for you today?"

"I'm looking for Sal." Larry tried to keep his voice even, inconspicuous. He wasn't trying to accidentally out Sal to anyone.  _That would be perfect! Then you'll know if he hates you for sure._ Larry blinked, trying to keep his thoughts at bay while he waited for the answer to his question.

If Todd was aware of their relations, he didn't let on. He simply jerked his head to the left, indicating that Sal was in the back room through the hallway. "Sally Face should be through that door. You can just go on back."

Larry nodded, gulping, unsure of himself. "Thanks, Todd."

Todd gave him a smile as he pushed himself off of the bar, walking in the direction that he'd been pointed in. Larry got to the door, took a deep breath to steady himself, and slowly pushed it open

The room he'd entered was one he hadn't ever been in before. It was dimly lit, and Larry hissed when his shin knocked into a full box. "Shit!"

There was movement around the corner, a shadow catching Larry's eye. He turned his head just in time to see Sal walk out from behind the back, wearing an apron, his hair tied back. Larry lost his breath.

"Larry!" Sal squeaked, unable to hide the surprise from his voice. He was holding onto a rag, twisting it nervously in his hands. "I haven't seen you in a while. I figured since you didn't call... that, uh... You were kind of done." Those words stung, like Sal had just backhanded him instead of greeted him.  _You should have called, stupid prick._

"Uh..." Larry started, dumbly, unable to think of what he actually wanted to say. He realized then that he hadn't really thought this plan out. He knew that he wanted to tell the other man goodbye, but then... what? If he was being honest with himself, he wanted to tell Sal that he was staying. He wanted to ask if Sal would come with him. He wanted to do anything that would allow him just another moment of warmth.

 

_But don't ever doubt this,_

__my steadfast conviction_ _

 

However, he knew that none of those options were possible. None of those options seemed entirely healthy either.

"I came to say goodbye," Larry said, his voice cracking and rough. He didn't know how many cigarettes he smoked on the way here, but he knows that he must smell terrible.  _God, you're laughable. Sal wouldn't want anything to do with you even if he was on the market._

A small sound came from Sal, but Larry didn't have the emotional dictionary to identify it. "I just... I didn't want to leave without... seeing you." Larry could feel the heat bursting in his face; cherry cheeks glowing in the dark room.  _Smooth move, dumbass. You're going to scare him with the direction your taking this._  "I should probably go," he thought and then said out loud.

"Wait!" Sal shouted before he had the chance to turn around. "What do you mean 'you're leaving?' Where are you going?" Sal took a step towards him, and Larry could feel his knees starting to shake.  _Please,_ he thought,  _don't come closer._ The only thing going through his mind right now was how unfair life was. He'd met this beautiful man, one that was truly different and gorgeous, and now he was telling him goodbye. And on top of that his mental attachment had gotten _so_ bad over the last week that it was starting to scare him.

"I can't... I have to leave, and try to find other gigs..." Larry huffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets because he didn't know what else to do. "I just... I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

Larry glanced up, and he could see Sal's eyebrows scrunched together under the mask, and he tilted his head to the side. "Why?"

"Huh?" Larry asked dumbly, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

Sal snorted, and it made Larry relax just a tiny bit... Enough to get his thoughts together.

"Why did you come back to say goodbye? And to  _me_ of  _all_ people _?_ " Sal clarified, pointing at himself.

Larry could only give him a sad smile. Words couldn't explain why Larry thought it would be necessary. It was the right decision, that much was sure. It was a good decision as far as he was concerned. "Because you deserve that," he answered truthfully after a moment. He couldn't bear to see the cold face of the mask staring back at him, so he turned on his heels and started to leave.

"Larry!" Sal called after him. "Fuck."

Footsteps followed him, catching up to him. He let Sal put a hand on his shoulder and forcefully turn him around. "You can't just walk away from me, asshole. We were talking."

"Sorry," Larry mumbled, "I thought I was being weird."  _You are being weird._

"I knew you were weird the minute I hung up with you on the phone," Sal countered, and Larry looked up to see his eyes narrowing, and he could hear the smile in the other man's words.

"I..." Larry started, and the words died on his lips. He was about to say,  _I can't stop thinking about you._ But that would definitely be considered weird.

"Yes?" Before he could answer, his back hit the wall, and he couldn't remember backing up. Sal leaned into him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Larry... What were you saying?"

Larry made his life on doing whatever the fuck he wanted, so that meant he got to say whatever the fuck he wanted. And somehow in his gut, he knew that Sal wouldn't mind. Hoped, at the very least.

"I was saying that I can't stop thinking about you."

Sal inhaled sharply, and not for the first time did Larry catch himself wishing that he could see what was under the mask. "You fucked me once, Johnson. Then you didn't text... Made me think you were a one and done kind of guy, and now you're declaring your love for me?"

"What can I say?" Larry smiled. "I guess you were that good."

Sal snorted, looking away from the other man for a second and then returning his gaze. "What if I said that I didn't want you to leave?"

"I'd say that I was hoping you'd say that," Larry replied, heart icing over and sending a cold feeling running through his body.

"So you'll stay?" Sal asked, dropping his voice like he was sharing a secret with Larry.  _I'm not smart enough to figure it out._

"I can't, Sal," Larry breathed, his eyes falling shut.

Sal's hand left his shoulder, and he took a step back. Larry breathed in deeply, trying to keep the dark feelings from getting into his heart where he knew they would bring only pain.

"Why not?" Sal's voice was clipped, hurt. Larry grimaced, hated knowing that he was the reason that Sal was upset.

"I don't belong here, Sal... There's nothing here for me."

"I'm here."

Larry tried not to let those words send a shock throughout his body, but he failed. He slipped a small smile on his face, chuckling to himself. "You don't date, though. Remember?"

"Oh, my God." Larry could see Sal roll his eyes as he reached a hand to the back of his head and unclasped his mask. He let it fall to the floor, and Larry gazed upon the face he'd been craving to see for the last week and a half. Sal didn't give him time to look, however, because he was kissing Larry's mouth, cupping his face in his hands, tangling his fingers in his hair. Larry kissed back, melting into the other man, feeling the warmth between them start to melt the icy feeling flooding his veins. He reached his own hand to the back of Sal's head and pulled his blue hair free from the tie, taking his time to card his fingers through it.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" Sal panted against his mouth when they both came up for air.

"I don't think that's how the pickup line goes," Larry said between peppering Sal's neck with kisses.

Sal smiled widely, laughing as he rested his forehead against Larry's. "Take me with you," Sal whispered to him.

Larry let out a surprised breath through his nose. "What?"

"Take me with you," Sal repeated, determination rising in his voice. Larry couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sal wanted to go with him?

"Why?" Was all Larry could get out.

"I hate this fucking place, too. I want out, Larry. Get me out of here.  _Please._ " Sal's voice was reaching a level of desperation that Larry was not at all prepared for when he walked into Diane's that afternoon. He didn't even know what to say. He'd known this man for a few days, fucked him once, and now they're going on a lifelong road trip together?

"Sal," Larry started, his happiness deflating. "You haven't thought about this. You haven't seen the way I live. It's not for everyone."

"You live out of your van, and you go wherever you want. You're not tied down like I am!" Sal's head was bobbing back and forth, and all Larry wanted was to run his fingers through his hair again.

"I gave up everything to live like a bum. I'm not happy with the way I've decided to take things, but that's because  _I_ fucked up. You don't have to be like me, Sal. You have a life here. You have the bar, and your dad."

"Barely," Sal spat bitterly. "And it's my choice, right? It's my life to fuck up, yeah? Let me come with you."

"What about your dad?"

"My dad treats me like I'm still sixteen, and he won't let me do  _anything_." Sal glared at a spot on the wall. "And by anything, I mean I wanted to go to college and study psychology, but he told me I had to stay home. Learn how to run the bar so he can pass it down to me... But I fucking hate this place." He looked down at his shoes, and Larry took a step forward, noticing the shift in Sal's mood. "He bought it after my mom died and named this fucking shithole after her." Resentment is fresh in his eyes, and Larry places a comforting hand on Sal's shoulder. Sal sniffles. "I have to get out of here. And if you leave without me then I don't know if I'll ever get another chance." Larry stayed quiet for a moment, thinking. Sal took this as his response and shook his hand off his shoulder. "Of course, if you don't want me to tag along, I completely understand." The words were fake, brittle, and Larry felt his heart drop.

"It's not that I don't want to take you with me, it's just.... You just met me," Larry explained, hating himself for saying it out loud. He should've just said  _Yep, let's head out now!_ And they could be half-way to the next town by now.

"And yet your the only other person I've ever met who knows how fucked up the world truly is." Sal sighed. "And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you either."

And that was all the convincing that Larry needed. Who cared if it didn't work? Who cared if Sal might be making the worst decision of his life? Larry would make sure that this man would want for nothing. He would do anything if it meant it would make Sal happy. That's how he would make things work.

**_tbc._ **


	2. i love you, honeybear (b)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sal and Larry spend seemingly four blissful months on the road. 
> 
> Then Sal finds that he’s out of Olanzapine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: discontinuation of medication, withdrawal symptoms (vomiting+panic attacks) schizophrenia, delusions, auditory hallucinations
> 
> an: hi, writing is hard and dissociation is a b*tch. take our angst-born baby.  
> UNEDITED im sorry

 

**_(b)_ **

  
  


_My love, you're the one_

_I wanna watch the ship go down with_

Sal had never done anything extraordinary with his life. He’d spent his entire existence trying to pretend like he wasn’t a real person. He hadn’t moved out. He’d barely finished high school. He didn’t dare dream of college, knowing how that tended to bring out the worst of his father’s rage. He just assumed that he would work forever at his dad’s bar, wondering when his life would end because it certainly wasn’t about to begin.

That was… until his father asked him to call Larry Johnson one night. The man had incorrectly guessed that Sal was a Libra, and then he came into the bar and sang his heart out. He laid himself bare with his music, and Sal couldn’t take his eyes off of him while he sang an almost perfect rendition of Fiona Apple’s _“Every Single Night.”_

 _“That what I am is what I am 'cause I does what I does.”_ He’d caught Sal’s attention. _“And maybe I'd relax, let my breast just bust open.”_ He’d never heard anyone sing like _that. “My heart's made of parts of all that surround me.”_ Sal had to stop and stare and _listen_ to him because he was not just singing. _“And that's why the devil just can't get around me.”_ He was telling everyone in the bar a story; a story about himself. And most people wouldn’t understand that, but Sal did. And he knew he had to talk to him.

But the next time Sal saw him, he was getting kicked to death in an alley. Luckily, Sal had pepper spray, and there was nothing stopping him from using it on all three of the fuckers. He helped the nearly unconscious Larry back into the bar. All the while, he mumbled about his guitar. How he didn’t want anything to happen to her.

When Sal dropped him onto the couch, he rushed back out into the alley and grabbed it. It looked undamaged, thank God, so he packed it up in its case and heaved it into the bar. Noticing Larry’s broken tamborine on the ground, he snatched that up, too, sad that he couldn’t save it.

Larry was passed out when he got back, and Sal was shaking so bad that he rolled himself a joint to smoke after he figured out what needed to be done about Larry. He almost called the police, but he knew that his father would throw a fit… He probably wouldn’t be too happy about having to explain to the police why there were several ounces of marijuana and coke stashed in the storeroom for their “under the table” business. Larry didn’t look that worse for wear anyways. Just a bit of a nosebleed. Maybe it was broken. He was still a ten, in Sal’s unbiased opinion, even if he was passed out after getting his ass beat. Sally shrugged it off and finished packing the joint.

If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know how those events lead him to where he is now: sitting shotgun in Larry’s old van, playing _Talking Heads,_ and smiling so hard that his cheeks were starting to hurt.

“ _Psycho Killer!”_ They both yelled in unison, laughing as the wind whipped through the opened window and blew their hair in all sorts of directions. “ _Qu'est-ce que c'est!”_

And if he was going to continue to be honest, he couldn’t bring himself to regret any of the decisions he’d made. Larry had stormed into his life like a hurricane, and Sal was ready to be blown away. He was ready to get out of this God forsaken town, get away from his father, and actually do something with his life!

When Larry blew in, Sal saw--at first--someone who had the potential to understand him. Then he saw the raw talent that Larry possessed, and somehow he got swept off his motherfucking feet like a goddamn princess, and he couldn’t be happier about it. Then… when Larry said he was leaving, Sal saw an opportunity. A free ride with free ass and a mutual understanding. Larry was too good to be true.

That should have been a red flag, but Sal was colorblind so fuck it.

    The first week on the road passed them in the blink of an eye. Days were spent driving, talking, singing, yelling. Nights were spent panting, moaning, screaming, and whispering in the afterglow. It felt like something had been put into place… And what started out as amazing sex and a good conversation turned into shy thigh touches and sneaked kisses. It turned into hushed conversations about their past, and lazy touches that were just meant to comfort and not please.

    A casual and welcome change, but Sal couldn’t help the feelings that were starting to grow in his chest when he saw Larry pumping gas, tongue stuck between his teeth as he watched the price climb higher and higher. He couldn’t help the jolt of fondness whenever he watched Larry order for the both of them when they were at a restaurant because Sal didn’t like trying to talk to other people from behind the mask. The feelings would have scared him if it was anyone but Larry.

_The future can't be real,_

_I barely know how long a moment is_

    Suddenly, it had been four months since Sal had left his small town. He’d been on the road with Larry for four whole months, and they’d been some of the happiest times in his life. He couldn’t remember ever having so much fun in his life.

    But like all good things; it came to an abrupt end one cold, rainy morning when Sal opened the orange bottle and found it empty. That’s when the panic had started to set in. _What the hell was he going to do? He couldn’t tell Larry he was out! Then Larry would know that he takes medication! And then he would know that Sal was sick. And Larry doesn’t wanna have a sick person as a partner in crime._

    Sal shoved the empty medicine bottle back in his bag. He was miles and miles and miles away from home. What would happen if Larry found out? Would he just kick him out? Leave him on the side of the road? Would he take him back home to his father? What would his father do if he showed up four months later after having disappeared so abruptly?

    Sal’s breathing grew labored and shallow. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears in time with his rabbit-paced heartbeat. He could almost feel his nerves rubbing raw with panic. He couldn’t wait until the withdrawls started.

    He suddenly felt very exposed in the cold air of the van.

_Where is my mask?_

His gaze darted around the van, looking for his mask. He needed his mask. He wouldn’t be able to hide the look of sheer terror on his face from Larry, and his mask would let him hide that. Where was it?

Where was it?

_Where was it?_

Sal spotted it laying beside the air mattress in the back, but the sight of it didn’t stop the screaming in his head. He swooped it up, placing it on his face, and securing it tightly behind his head, but it still didn’t shut up the buzzing in his veins. At least he felt a _little_ better now that another layer was between him and the nasty world that lay in wait for him outside.

Larry had gone out to grab some milk, and he should be back any minute. Sal had to get his breathing under control, had to figure out a game plan. He had to remember everything he’d learned in therapy, and that was going to go over as well as a fart in church with how much weed he’s been smoking recently. His memory was shit.

He slumped against the back of the console, his legs crumpling beneath him, energy drained and splayed out like a doll.

_A broken doll._

He’d been taking his medication for years now, and while sometimes he felt like he really didn’t need them anymore, his father always made him swallow them down every morning.

Maybe everything was fine now? Logic slowly started making its way back to him after the haze of initial panic seemed to blow over. Maybe he didn’t need medication anymore. Perhaps he was cured, and he was never going to find that out if he stayed with his dad. His dad would’ve just made him keep taking them and taking them, and Sal would continue feeling disconnected. Maybe this was the best thing that could’ve happened to him this morning.

His heartbeat was starting to slow. _Yeah,_ he thought. _I can get by just fine without my medication._

The buzzing in his head should’ve been a dead giveaway.

_Unless we’re naked,_

_Getting high on the mattress_

_While the global market crashes_

Larry was sitting in a lawn chair that was probably older than the both of them. They’d parked the van by a lake they’d found down a backroad. The scenery was nice, and Sal loved the way the flowers looked this time of year. He pointed at one, smiling and looking over at Larry. No sooner had he done that did Larry make a quick exit off the highway to promptly find this little slice of heaven that they get to call theirs for the day.

    Sal sat on the edge of the van, doors open to air out the musty smell of a long car ride and plenty of nicotine, smoked in the earlyhours of the morning as Larry tried to stay awake. He would only pull over after Sal yelled at him. Now, Sal himself dragged on a cigarette while Larry plucked his guitar strings, the chords filling the air, travelling across the lake and coming back to them when they hit the trees on the other side.

    If Sal was being honest, he’s never heard anything quite like Larry’s singing. He feels like he can get lost in it. It feels so comfortable and familiar and _genuine._ Larry’s music is starting to feel like home more and more everyday, and Sal doesn’t know if that should scare him or not.

    He doesn’t know how he could be scared when Larry’s around.

    “Do you want to keep learning?” Larry’s hushed voice made him look up, seeing the guitar that was being offered to him.

    “I really want you to keep playing, actually?” Sal said, tilting his head to the side so Larry knew he was smiling even though the mask covered it.

    Larry chuckled, bringing the guitar back to rest on his knees. “Well if that’s the case,” he says, plucking each string one by one very obnoxiously, “does my lady have a request?” His voice was high pitched and overpronounced, a character voice that always made Sal laugh no matter what he said.

    “Hmm…” Sal started. “I think you know which one.”

    “You literally always ask for that song! Is there no other one that you like?” Larry threw up his hands dramatically, making Sal laugh more.

    “I like all of them!” Sal defended, shaking his head. “That ones just my favorite.”

    Larry gave him a knowing smirk as he strummed out the first chords of their song.

_As death fills the street_

_We’re garden-variety oblivious_

    Sal wakes up with a massive headache, and his stomach is heaving. Luckily, they picked tonight of all nights to stay in a hotel room because it was getting too cold in the van, even when they’re sharing body heat.

    He rolls out of bed and rushes to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before he heaves up his dinner from the night before. He doesn’t think he’ll ever eat spaghetti again.

    His heart his also racing, and his thoughts have trouble aligning themselves. He can distinctly hear Larry groggily shoving the sheets off of him, his feet hitting the ground. If Sal focuses hard enough, he can hear the little cough he does when he first wakes up.

    Sal dry heaves again.

    Larry knocks on the door, his voice gruff with sleep and thick with concern. “Are you okay, Sal?”

    “I’m fine!” Sal gets out through gasps and dry heaves. “Just bad food, I think.”

_Liar._

“Alright, do you want me to come in?”

    Sal looks down and realizes that he might not have made it to the toilet with as much time as he thought. The floor was a mess, and the toilet seat was covered with bile. The whole room reeked of vomit, and Sal couldn’t help but gag one more time. Larry absolutely could _not_ see him like this.

    “No,” Sal managed to say after a second of fighting back another wave of nausea. “I’ll be okay, Lar. Don’t worry about me.” He tried to keep his voice light so as not to make his lover worry more than he already did.

    Larry took a moment to respond, and Sal could practically see the cogs in Larry’s head turning, trying to think of the right thing to say and the right way to say it, never wanting himself to be misunderstood.

    “Alright, well I’m gonna stay awake until you’re feeling better, so if you need anything, just holler.”

    Sal breathed out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Larry.” A bead of sweat drips down his temple, and he wishes he had a hairband to pull his hair out of his face. The now pale blue ends were covered in sick, and he knew that he’d have to get a shower before even attempting to clean up the bathroom unless he wanted to clean it up a second time.

    The water, set to cold, was a nice relief against his warm skin. It shocked some of his senses back into him, but with his senses came a new onslaught that nothing could’ve prepared him for.

    They were back.

    He thought he’d gotten rid of them. He thought he’d been cured, and he was free of them now. He thought they couldn’t get to him as long as Larry was in the other room. But here they were, dark and sadistic as always.

    Cruel.

    With the cold water brought cold words. Words that no one should ever hear, and Sal knew that somewhere deep down. However, remembering that would only make them yell louder. Make them grow meaner.

    Sal had to sit down in the cold shower, shivering and shaking, and he could do nothing but listen. He was trapped. No matter where he was or who he was with, he was trapped. There was nowhere he could go to escape their demeaning taunts. He just had to coexist with them, and that was the most painful part.

    So he sat there, and he listened until he couldn’t feel his fingers or toes. He sat there and listened until he couldn’t feel his nose either. He wouldn’t be surprised if his lips were turning blue.

He was vaguely aware of Larry when he knocked on the bathroom door for a second time that night. Sal’s pretty sure he said something, but it was drowned out by the water and insults. But the sound of knuckles against wood made the voices quiet, enough for Sal to feel like he could breathe again.

He shouted something at Larry in response, nonsense probably, and turned the water off. He was shaking horribly, but he didn’t really feel cold even though everything seemed to turn blue. He went through the motions of getting dressed and cleaning up the bathroom from his vomit fest, his shivering growing less severe by the minute. He’s almost positive Larry heard his teeth chattering, but he doesn’t knock again.

_Probably learned by now that you’re not worth helping._

    When the bathroom is cleaned to his liking, Sal takes a deep breath, willing them to be quiet if just for a second, just to let him get some sleep so they could torture him all hours of tomorrow, bright and early.

    Sal feels numb when he exits the bathroom. So numb, in fact, that he completely ignores the look of genuine worry on Larry’s face. He bypasses the other man completely, his energy not allowing for much else besides the shuffle of his feet to get him from point a to point b.

    He lays down in the bed, back facing Larry, and he can’t find it in himself to feel guilty about not saying anything.

    He doesn’t need to feel guilty, however, and Larry lets him know this by leaning over and kissing his temple. “Feel better, Blue.”

    The voices quieted enough for him to fall asleep, although they weren’t replaced by music.

_You grab my hand and say in “I-told-you-so” voice:_

_“It’s just how we expected.”_

    Sal looks at his bowl of cereal, the one Larry just poured for him, and a sick feeling overtakes his stomach. Familiar just as it is unwelcome. The thoughts that are coming to him are unmonitored. His heart races as he stares at the bowl in his hands, the milk soaking into the cereal and making it ten times more disgusting than before.

    He hears a rustling off to the right, and he sees Larry pouring himself a cup of cereal. (There weren’t any bowls left) Sal bites his lip as he see Larry’s hand reach for the milk.

    He drops his own poisoned food to slap the milk out of Larry’s hand, grabbing hold of his wrist and trying his best to give the other man a pleading look.

    “Sal?” Larry asks, his eyebrow raised. Sal didn’t even care that he was acting weird, he just couldn’t let Larry drink that milk. There’s no doubt in his head that there’s something wrong with it. Someone could’ve done anything to it in the grocery store. Or in the milk factory. Or in the distribution trucks. They could’ve laced it with something, hoping to kill a couple of innocent people just trying to make it in life. That’s how fucked up this world is. Sal could imagine seeing that headline on the news.

    “Please,” Sal pleaded, his voice hushed, when he saw that Larry was waiting for an explanation. “You can’t drink that.” His voice was no more than a whisper, but he was breathing in every breath Larry was exhaling, so the sound didn’t have to travel far for him to hear.

    “Why not?” Larry asked seriously but still unable to mask the curiosity lying under his words.

    “Because you don’t know what could’ve happened to it.” Sal is trying his best to keep his hands from shaking, but Larry can definitely feel the miniscule tremors in the others hands. He takes them into his, comfortingly, soothingly. “You don’t know if it’s… If someone’s done something to it.”

    “I’ve been drinking milk for a long time. No one’s ever done anything to it yet.” Larry smiles, reaching up his hand to brush away Sal’s hair.

    Sal doesn’t find the touch nor his rebuttal to Sal’s plea comforting in the slightest. “Just please… Don’t drink the milk, Larry. Please.” He could feel the tears springing to his eyes, and he could see the surprise on Larry’s face. Probably didn’t expect him to be serious about this, but Sal’s never been this serious about anything in his life. He pushes his face into Larry’s shoulder, arms wrapping around him like he’d never hug him again.

    Larry, finally realizing that Sal is not just messing around, puts his arms around the other boy, and places a kiss to his hair. “Alright, Sal. I’m not going to drink the milk. We’ll throw it out, and you can buy a new one, okay?” His voice was gentle if not a little unsure, but those were the words that Sal needed to hear.

    “Promise?”

    “Yeah. Promise.”

    Sal relaxed further into Larry, breathing calming down just enough for his mind to stop racing. The threat was dealt with. Larry was safe, and to Sal, that was all that mattered. With his face buried in his lover’s shoulder, he doesn’t see the look of realization that crosses Larry’s face.

            He’d seen the empty Olanzapine bottle a week ago in the trash bag they kept behind the driver's seat. He should’ve said something earlier.

 


	3. i love you, honeybear (c)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Larry and Sal start the journey to Washington D.C.
> 
> Minor bumps ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: schizophrenic episodes/hallucinations
> 
> sorry for the long waits between chapters and everything but i want you guys to know that i have every intention of finishing this story  
> if you guys enjoyed it please drop a comment <3 ur guys' comments on this are always nice to read and i appreciate every one of them
> 
> this is UNEDITED so read at ur own risk

_Everything is doomed._

_And nothing will be spared._

_But I love you, honeybear._

 

Larry has never been more concerned about another person in his life. Ever since the incident with the milk, he’s been keeping a close watch on Sal. He’d been careful to be discreet enough to not be noticed, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying anything. Nothing _too_ weird has happened since the milk, but forgive him if he’s a little on edge. Spending four months with someone really can open up your eyes, see them in a way that no one ever has before, but you can’t learn everything. There are secrets in everybody, and Larry was foolish to assume that Sal didn’t have any of his own. Now that he’s realized it, he can see Sal’s shoulders tense up, can see him shake his head. He can feel his breath speed up in the middle of the night sometimes, and Larry knows he’s trying not to hyperventilate. The withdrawals have stopped, and Larry has to count that as a small victory, but he can tell, somewhere deep down, that this is just the calm before the storm. And he still hasn’t decided if he wants to keep his mouth shut and ride it out or not. 

Even now, when they’re sitting on the floor of his van, eating instant noodles, he can’t help but look over at Sal like he might snap. His mask is flipped up on top of his face so he can eat, and there’s a small smile on his lips as he listens to the radio star make jokes with his co-host, blanket thrown over both of their legs. There’s a soft glow coming from the overhead light, casting shadows all around them, making the space feel a lot cozier than it was.

Larry’s face softens. Despite everything they’ve both been through, Sal still somehow takes his breath away. There’s gentleness in Sal’s eyes, in his hands, that Larry’s never experienced before. The way he _breathes_ seems soft and calm, and if Larry’s honest, the whole milk incident scared him. He’d never seen Sal that _scared_ before, like raw nerve endings firing non-stop. He never wants to see the other man like that again if he can help it. 

He didn’t realize he was staring until Sal looks up, tilting his head, his smile growing ever so slightly. “What’re you staring at?” Sal asks playfully, and Larry forgets all of his worries if only for a split-second. 

Larry’s never been one to shy away from the opportunity to flirt, so he smiles and lets his emotions play out on his face. “Just you, beautiful.” Instead of blushing like he would’ve done a couple of months ago, Sal just scoffs, rolls his eyes, takes a playful swat at Larry’s arm and goes back to eating. It makes Larry’s heart warm, and his stomach flutters like the way teenage girls’ do when they describe their sexy vampire neighbor. 

There’s a moment of silence where the radio goes from talking to singing, and Larry thinks about bringing up the elephant in the room. 

He doesn’t. It’s not that big, yet. He could sit here and pretend like everything was OK, if only for a little bit. The music in the background sounds nice mixed together with their forks scraping against styrofoam cups. 

“Where are we heading tomorrow?” Sal asks, not taking his eyes off of his food. Larry had just finished up his gig deal with the local bar, and it was time to move on. He was sad about leaving this time. Sal had got a job working as a waiter at the bar he performed at. Usually, they didn’t have that type of luck, but this town was welcoming and warm and accommodating. Much more so than the previous towns they had blown through. He’d thought about staying if he’s being honest. He has it all planned. He’d go to the bar tomorrow morning, and see if they couldn’t work out a long-term contract. Maybe six months? He thinks. A year if things went _really_ well. He had let his mind wander too far into the future, thought about buying a house, maybe go back to school, get a good job and start providing some real money. Maybe he’d even give up his dream of being a rockstar. He knew he wasn’t ready for all of that just yet, but four months ago, the thought of settling down somewhere with some _one_ wasn’t even a thought that would’ve crossed his mind.

But watching Sal eat noodles in his shitty van, he wouldn’t mind it at all.

“We’re heading further east,” he says, tucking his thoughts into the back of his head where they belong. 

A look of excitement crosses Sal’s face, and he perks up like a puppy. “Like New York?” 

“A little further down…” Larry hints, his eyes twinkling in the shitty lights of his van. Sal makes a confused noise, but it sounds excited still. He’s sat up on his knees, leaning forward as if waiting for Larry to tell him, head tilting left and right. 

“Hmm…” Sal starts, raising a hand to tap his chin. There’s a playful tone in his voice as he scoots closer to Larry. “You’re just going to have to tell me, Johnson.” Sal laughs as he falls over into Larry’s side. 

Larry lets out his own chuckle before planting on kiss on Sal’s temple. “We’re headed over to our Nation’s capital: Washington, D.C..” Sal pulls away, and Larry can see the look of shock on his face, his eyes were wide as saucers, mouth slightly agape in awe. 

“You’re _kidding!”_ Sal squeals, and Larry can’t help but smile, forget about all the bad things for just a second. He watches as Sal lets out his excitement by bouncing around in the small space of the van when Larry nods his affirmation. “This is _crazy!_ I’ve never been to D.C. before! We _have_ to go see _everything._ The Lincoln Monument. _Arlington Cemetary!”_

“We’ll see all of that, I promise. We’ll be proper tourists this time.” If Larry was being honest, he didn’t care where he went as long as Sal was by his side. He was only moving away from this small town because he wanted Sal to see something different. They’d been stopping in small towns for four months, and Sal had grown up in a small town. It was about time for a change in scenery, a big city, with thousands of people and opportunities just screaming their names out to them, waiting for them. 

Larry didn’t care where he went, but if he had to pick, D.C. wasn’t a bad spot. They had the money now to afford a rather nice hotel room for at least a couple of weeks. Larry had been there before with his father before he passed away, and he knew just from that one trip that there were plenty of clubs and bars around. He had the skills, and all it took was an audition to land a gig. He was cheap, too. They wouldn’t have any problems getting their feet under them, and Larry’s hoping if all his chips land in the right places, they wouldn’t have to leave anytime soon. 

 

The next day, Larry wakes up early and starts the long drive to the Capital. Sal’s still sleeping in the back, but he knows it won’t be long until the other man climbs up into the passenger seat. No matter how carefully Larry drives, Sal always wakes up. Whether it be from a bump or a sharp turn, it doesn’t take long for Sal to get himself together and jump up to join Larry with a toothbrush hanging out his mouth. 

The drive is going to be a long one. A couple of days travel at least. Larry did some quick math in his head and figured that they’d have plenty of money left over to book a motel room at least one night during the journey. While neither of them minded snuggling up in the back of Larry’s van, it’s nice to snuggle up in an actual bed every once in a while. And as much pride as Larry takes in his old beast of a vehicle, the more promiscuous side of their relationship isn’t always easy to maintain when Larry’s feet keep hitting their portable stove, or when Sal accidentally knocks his head against the wall. Sexy time was considerably less sexy in the back of a van, no matter how many rockstars would tell you differently. 

It wasn’t until Larry got on the interstate did he realize that Sal hadn’t gotten up yet. He turns his head just a little to glance into the back, and he sees Sal, still laying on their makeshift cot on the floor, seemingly asleep.

“Sal?” Larry asks, turning his eyes back to the road. He gets no response from the other man, and he has half the mind to reach behind him and wake the other up. He’s got a long drive ahead of him, and it would be a shame to do it all without a little bit of company. However, Larry could feel him tossing and turning all night, and he thinks it best to just let his lover sleep in. He picks up an old CD from the dashboard that he hasn’t heard in a while and pops it into the player. The soft guitar music fills his head and the cab of the van in lack of the conversations he wishes he was having with Sal. He can’t wait to tell him ‘good morning.’

 

_You’re bent over the altar_

_And the neighbors are complaining_

_That the misanthropes next door_

_Are probably conceiving a Damien_

 

Sal doesn’t join Larry until it’s almost lunchtime, and when he does, Larry definitely knows that something is wrong. He can’t put his finger on it, and he dare not call it out. But Sal slumps down in his seat, head turned toward the window, back hunched over likes he’s trying to make himself smaller. He’s wearing his mask, making it hard to tell what he’s feeling. Larry wishes he’d just leave it off sometimes. At least, around him. Call him selfish, a fool for not understanding, but seeing Sal’s face made Larry feel like he was someone important. Someone special to Sal. And he knows he is regardless of if he wears the mask or not, but it’s nice to look Sal in the eyes and tell him, “I see you.” And mean it in more ways than one.

“Good morning,” Larry chirps despite the off-vibes he getting from the other man. “Get enough rest, sleeping beauty?” 

Sal makes a groggy, noncommittal noise from beside him, and it’s enough to confirm Larry’s suspicions that something is off. 

“Hey,” Larry starts, his tone softening. Sal looks over at him, but Larry can’t find anything in the prosthetic staring back at him. “Is everything ok?” 

“Yeah,” Sal replies, voice gruff. “Everything’s fine. Why?” 

“You just sounded a little sick, is all,” Larry rebuffed, switching his tone to a more light one. Sal didn’t say anything, just turning his head to look back out the window. So much for conversation. Sometimes they didn’t need conversation, though. Sometimes it was just nice to sit in each other’s company and know that no one needed to be impressed with them. They could simply exist while a song played that they both knew the words, but never sung. 

Larry pops in another CD. This time it’s a more chipper album, one of Sal’s favorites. Hopefully, it can help cheer him up, and Larry trusts that Sal would talk to him when he was ready if something serious was going on. They wouldn’t have survived this long if Sal wasn’t honest with him when he had a problem. If Sal didn’t tell him to turn down the heat, or if Sal didn’t tell him when he was being too annoying or when he’d taken a joke too far, then they wouldn’t have made it four months living out of a van and on the road the whole time. Larry has faith in Sal, and he can only hope that Sal feels the same. 

Larry treats Sal to a meal at a Wafflehouse just off the interstate. It’s not the fanciest of places nor the most expensive, obviously, but it’s something other than Ramen and Vienna sausages for a change. They order it to go because Sal tells him that he doesn’t want to have the people in the dinner watch him lift his mask to eat. Larry understands this, so he figures that he might as well splurge on the hotel for tonight, even though he knows that he has a couple more days of driving left. He finds it more important that Sal’s comfortable while he’s going through whatever he’s going through. 

So Larry and Sal, with their hot meal, walk into their new motel room for the night. They didn’t have any rooms with a single bed, but the two of them don’t waste any time pushing the two singles together, hopping onto the covers when they’re done. Sal was digging into his food as Larry flipped through the channel, leaving it on the news when he couldn’t find anything interested. The news was always nice to watch for Larry. Living out of his van, the only way he could get news was on the radio. It didn’t offer the same satisfaction as actually _seeing_ the news anchor talking on screen.

Larry’s just about to bite into his omelet when Sal asks, “Why the motel room?” Larry’s a little taken aback, figuring that Sal would’ve asked this question earlier when he’d first said that he was going to get one for tonight. For some reason, Sal waited to ask until after.

“I just thought it’d be a nice change of space,” Larry replied, a lilt in his voice to make the reason obvious. If he’s being honest, he doesn’t expect anything from Sal, as the other man’s been in a kind of stupor all day. It wasn’t like he was unresponsive to Larry. Today it just seemed like Sal was using as few words possible to communicate with Larry. 

Larry would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little paranoid. He doesn’t know if _he’d_ done something to upset Sal. Maybe he’d said something. But Sal doesn’t seem to be angry with him, just detached. It confuses Larry more than it hurts, and he can’t help that his concern is growing. 

He can see the tilt of Sal’s lips now that he’s taken off his mask to eat, and they’re turned upward. That’s the first smile Larry’s seen from him all day, and it makes him want to jump up and down with glee. He’d give anything if it meant he could see Sal smile forever. 

“Are you going to try to come on to me later, Johnson?” Though his voice is still rough, there’s a playfulness intertwined within, and it makes Larry’s heart skip a beat. This sounds more like Sal. Maybe he was just imagining it before. Maybe it is nothing, and Sal is completely fine. 

There’s a nagging at the back of his head, though. A loud, annoying little voice that sounds like a gnat he just can’t seem to swat away. He knows he should pay a little more attention, think a little more into it, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s happy and admitting that something might be wrong would completely ruin it. He just has to keep his wits about him, look out for himself and Sal, and everything would turn out just right.

“I might do exactly that if you’re interested.” He lets a smirk come onto his face, and he sees Sal’s eyes light up with anticipation and excitement. 

“Oh, I’m interested.” Sal gives him a wink and then drops the sexy facade as he shoves a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. “Let me eat finish these first, though.” 

Larry laughs, nodding agreement as he digs into his own dinner. 

 

_Don’t they see the darkness rising?_

_Good luck fingering oblivion_

 

The night at the motel was as close to perfect as Larry’s ever gotten, and he hopes Sal feels the same. Both of them are laying in bed after a rather loud round, Sal curled up into Larry’s side, arm slung over his stomach, head resting on his shoulder. Larry can’t help but to smooth back Sal’s hair and place a gentle kiss to his forehead. He can hear the other’s breathing evening out, and he knows that it won’t be long before Sal is dead to the world. His eyes will droop, fighting it, and he’ll fall deeper. 

Larry feels wide awake, his skin almost buzzing in the afterglow. There are feelings whirling around in his chest. Feelings he can’t seem to make sense of. They’re not bad or unwelcome, but they’re new. Something in Larry tells him that he’s never felt this way before. Never felt his stomach turn in this way, never felt the hard beating of his heart in this way. When he’s looking at Sal, he knows for a fact that his palms have never been this sweaty, and he knows that he’s never cared _this much_ about his future. But when Sal’s involved, it’s hard not to want the best future imaginable for both of them. 

He knows that this feeling isn’t going to go away any time soon, and he knows by the way that Sal is breathing that he’s fallen asleep. He knows that he has to say these feelings out loud just so he knows they’re real. 

He leans down to place another soft kiss on Sal’s forehead, and he doesn’t stir. Larry whispers into his hair, wishing that he had enough courage to say this when Sal woke up. The words are so quiet that he can barely hear them when they’re coming from his own mouth. Whispered in the darkness of a seedy motel room in the middle of nowhere. 

“I love you.” 

 

_We’re getting out now while we can_

 

Sal is already in the shower when Larry wakes up, and he thinks about joining him but decides against it in favor of going to the gas station next door to pick up some doughnuts and coffee for breakfast. He knows that the motel offers coffee, but he always ends up disappointed and constipated after he drinks it. It’s best to pick and choose your battles, and Larry doesn’t think he’s prepared to fight _that_ during their long drive today. 

When he gets back, he opens the door only to see Sal, still in a bathrobe, sitting on the bed, hunched over with his hands palm-up in front of him. There’s a look in his eyes that Larry can’t place. His face is scrunched, damp hair falling in front of it, and it’s obvious that he’s distressed. He’s staring at his hands like they’ve got something on them, turning them over and over, searching for something that’s not there.

Larry acts quickly, sensing that something’s _undeniably_ not right here. He sets down the things he got from the gas station and hurries directly over to Sal’s side. He puts an arm over Sal’s shoulders protectively, and he can see now that the other boy is shaking, water droplets falling from his hair and onto his skin. 

“Sal, what’s wrong, babe? What’s goin’ on?” He tries to keep his voice even and calm, but he can tell that the frantic panic is seeping through no matter how much he tries to help it. 

Sal doesn’t even seem to notice, continuing to look at his hand, turning them over to look at the back for a second before flipping them over again. He’s frantic, eyes darting from side to side, up and down. He’s stuttering, syllables are falling from his mouth, but they don’t sound like words. His voice is shaky, and all Larry can do is pull him tighter to his side. 

“I need you to calm down just a little bit, okay? Just enough to tell me what’s going on.” 

“Its blood!” Sal cries, shaking his hands frantically. “There’s blood!” 

Larry’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at Sal’s perfectly clean hands. Tears are streaming down his cheeks, and Larry’s heart aches in his chest. He doesn’t know what to do. Is there anything he _can_ do other than sit here next to his distraught lover twiddling his thumbs? 

“Sal, there’s no blood on your hands,” Larry says, desperately trying to calm the other man down. He grabs onto Sal’s hands, successfully stopping the turning and fidgeting. He thought that if he could just show Sal that there wasn’t anything on his hands then maybe it would just snap him out of whatever he was in, but Sal lets out another high pitched cry in dismay.

“Now it’s on your hands!” He’s grappling with Larry’s hands now, trying to shove him away. “All my fault. All my fault.” 

“Nothing is your fault, sweetheart,” Larry tries, taking his hands away. Sal’s gaze follows them, wide with horror as he watches Larry wipe his brow out of nervousness. “It’s all going to be okay, Sal.” 

“No, it’s not.” Sal’s voice sounds weak, and he squeezes his eyes shut, bending his knees so that they’re curled up to his chest. He heaves out another sob, and Larry’s heart breaks with the sound. He squeezes Sal just a little bit tighter, hoping that this is just going to blow over. That he can just forget about this tomorrow when it’s a new day. 

But he knows that he can’t just ignore this anymore. He knows that he has to do something to help Sal, and he won’t stop until everything is back to the way it was. He won’t stop until he can tell Sal to his face, in his ear while he’s awake, that Larry loves him. And he’s not going anywhere for a long, long time.


End file.
